I. MY LADY IN DEATH.

All is but coloured show. I look

Into the green light shed

By leaves above my head,

And feel its inmost worth forsook

My being, when she died.

This heart, now hot and dried,

Halts, as the parched course where a brook

Mid flowers was wont to flow,

Because her life is now

No more than stories in a printed book.

Grass thickens proudly o'er that breast,

Clay-cold and sadly still,

My happy face felt thrill.

How much her dear, dear mouth expressed!

And now are closed and set

Lips which my own have met!

Her eyelids by the damp earth pressed!

Damp earth weighs on her eyes;

Damp earth shuts out the skies.

My Lady rests her heavy, heavy rest.

To see her high perfection sweep

The favoured earth, as she

With welcoming palms met me!

How can I but recall and weep?

Her hands’ light charm was such,

Care vanished at their touch.

Her feet spared little things that creep;

“For stars are not,” she'd say,

“More wonderful than they.”

And now she sleeps her heavy, heavy sleep.

Immortal hope shone on that brow,

Above whose waning forms

Go softly real worms.

Surely it was a cruel blow

Which cut my Darling's life

Sharply, as with a knife;

I hate my own that lets me grow

As grows a bitter root

From which rank poisons shoot

Upon the grave where she is lying low.

Ah, hapless fate! Could it be just,

That her young life should play

Its easy, natural way;

Then, with an unexpected thrust,

Be hence thus rudely sent;

Even as her feelings blent

With those around, whose love would trust

Her willing power to bless,

For all their happiness?

Alone she moulders into common dust.

Small birds twitter and peck the weeds

That wave above this bed

Where my dear Love lies dead:

They flutter and burst the globed seeds,

And beat the downy pride

Of dandelions, wide:

From speargrass, bowed with watery beads,

The wet uniting, drips

In sparkles off the tips:

In mallow bloom the wild bee drops and feeds.

No more she hears, where vines adorn

Her window, on the boughs

Birds chirrup an arouse:

Flies, buzzing, strengthening with the morn,

She will not hear again

At random strike the pane:

No more against the newly shorn

Grass edges will her gown

In playful waves be thrown,

As she walks forth to view what flowers are born.

Nor ponder more those dark green rings

Stained quaintly on the lea,

To picture elfin glee;

While through the grass a faint air sings,

And swarms of insects revel

Along the sultry level:

No more will watch their brilliant wings,

Now lightly dip, now soar,

Then sink, and rise once more.

My Lady's death makes dear these trivial things.

One noon, within an oak's broad shade,

Lost in delightful talk,

We rested from our walk.

Beyond the shadow, large and staid,

Cows chewed with drowsy eye

Their cud complacently:

Elegant deer walked o'er the glade,

Or stood with wide bright eyes

Gazing a short surprise;

And up the fern slope nimble conies played.

As rooks cawed labouring through the heat;

Each wing-flap seemed to make

Their weary bodies ache;

And swallows, though so wildly fleet,

Made breathless pauses there

At something in the air.

All disappeared: our pulses beat

Distincter throbs, and each

Turned and kissed without speech,

She trembling from her mouth down to her feet.

Then, as I felt her bosom heave,

And listened to the din

Of joyous life within,

Could I but in my heaven believe,

Assured by that repose

Within my heart, and those

Warm arms around my neck! While eve

In shadowy silence came

And quenched the Western flame,

That lingered round her as if loth to leave.

Then told I in a whispered tone

Of that approaching time,

When merry peal and chime

Of marriage ringing should make known,

In crashes through the air

Exultingly we were

By solemn rite each other's own:

And she, confiding, meek,

Against mine pressed her cheek,

And gave response in happy tears alone.

No heed of time took we, because

Those clanging bells had quite

Absorbed us in delight.

A happiness so perfect awes

The failing pulse and breath,

Like the mute doom of death:

Then, in an instantaneous pause

Flashed on my vacant eye

A swift Eternity;

And starting, as if clutched by demon-claws,

Awakened from a dizzy swoon,

I felt appalling fears

With ringings in my ears,

And wondered why the glaring moon

Swung round the dome of night

With such stupendous might.

Next came, like the sweet air of June,

A treacherous calm suspense

That bred a loathly sense,

Some nameless ill would overwhelm us soon.

She passed like summer flowers away.

Her aspect and her voice

Will never more rejoice,

For she lies hushed in cold decay.

Broken the golden bowl

Which held her hallowed soul:

It was an idle boast to say

“Our souls are as the same,”

And stings me now to shame:

Her spirit went, and mine did not obey.

The black truth, with a fiery dart,

Went hurtling through my thought,

When I beheld her brought

Whence she with life did not depart.

Her beauty by degrees

Sank, sharpened from disease:

The heavy sinking at her heart

Sucked hollows in her cheek,

And made her eyelids weak,

Though oft they opened wide with sudden start.

The Deathly Power in silence drew

My Lady's life away.

I watched, dumb for dismay,

The shock of thrills that quivered through

Her wasted frame, and shook

The meaning in her look,

As near, more near, the moment grew.

O horrible suspense!

O giddy impotence!

I saw her features lax, and change their hue.

Her gaze, grown large with fate, was cast

Where my mute agonies

Made sadder her sad eyes:

Her breath caught with short plucks and fast,

Then one hot choking strain;

She never breathed again.

I had the look which was her last:

Her love, when breath was gone,

One moment lingering shone,

Then slowly closed, and hope for ever passed.

A dreadful tremour ran through space

When first the mournful toll

Rang for My Lady's soul.

The shining world was hell; her grace

Only the flattering gleam

And mockery of a dream:

Oblivion struck me like a mace,

And as a tree that's hewn

I dropped, in a dead swoon,

And lay a long time cold upon my face.

Earth had one quarter turned before

My miserable fate

Pressed down with its whole weight.

My sense came back; and shivering o'er

I felt a pain to bear

The sun's keen cruel glare,

Which shone not warm as heretofore;

And never more its rays

Will satisfy my gaze:

No more; no more; O, never any more.